


A Soldier, and A Spy

by wordmason



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Non-ship characters are mostly mentions, Other, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordmason/pseuds/wordmason
Summary: Bucky is getting back into action, and Natasha finds herself more involved in it than she'd like. Her likes, however, start adapting quite nicely.





	1. A Familiar Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is back from the ice.

“So, what do you think?” It’s partly a trick question, and he fears, knows really, the decision has already been made for him.

Bucky looks at Steve, and then at T’Challa, they are waiting for his answer.

He turns back to Natasha, “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, his words slow and measured. He thinks his voice sounds different, was that how his voice always sounded?

Natasha doesn’t reply, and for a moment, he is intimidated by her straight gaze.

“Why don’t you think over it?” Steve breaks the tension, and T’Challa nods in agreement.

Natasha closes the laptop.

“I would say take all the time you need, but I’d prefer to know your answer today,” she says.

“We will leave you to your thinking.” T’Challa proceeds to leave the room, and Steve joins him in walking out.

Natasha picks up the files from the table, one by one, and proceeds to arrange them meticulously in the briefcase. The way she does it tells Bucky she’s being intentionally slow, like she’d have nothing to do once she was done with the task.

He thinks he should help her out, then decides against interrupting, instead pushes the files near him to her.

And his decision. He is pretty sure what he wants, or at least what he doesn’t want.

“I’m not ready,” Bucky says, his voice barely above a rough whisper, his words filled with uncertainty.

Natasha shuts the briefcase, and rises from her seat.

“Word of advice?” she asks.

He nods.

“You’ll never really feel ready.”

Bucky’s heart drops.

He’s been told that so many times. By so many different people.

But what do they know?!

Do they know what it’s like to be stripped bare of everything they ever thought they were? When you don’t know which is real. And you have to constantly, _constantly_ , ask yourselves, is this real? Are you real? Is this a dream? An illusion? A trick? When you can’t even tell what you’re feeling. And it’s draining whatever life you have left. When everything feels alien. You’ve been living this life, this body, for all your life, and yet it does not feel like your own. When you can’t trust your thoughts, you can’t trust your mind. Do they know, do they have at least the slightest idea, what it’s like, to question their own sanity?!

But, Natasha. It isn’t the same, hearing it from her. Her words are tearing at the last bit of lie Bucky’s been telling himself. He knows her. The Black Widow. He’s supposed to know her. But like so many other things he’s supposed to know, he knows, he doesn’t know her at all.

Natasha starts walking away.

“What do you think I should do?” Bucky asks, because, frankly, he doesn’t think he’s capable of making any decision.

She looks at him, and reads his face, he sees her doing it. He thinks it should annoy him, it doesn’t, instead he’s wondering what she’s seeing. Exhaustion? Misery? Fear? Weakness? Is she considering pitying him.

“I think,” she says, her voice unconventionally gentle, “you should give yourself a shot at becoming better.”

He doesn’t say anything, but even he knows, his face can’t hide the turmoil inside his head. She leaves him alone to mull over his thoughts.

For the rest of the world, the war was over years ago. But not for Bucky.

The wounds of the war are still fresh, a silent ache in his body, an exhaustion in his soul that doesn’t seem to go away, memories ripe for picking.

He wants to believe that he is no more under constant threat. Wants to believe that the shadow looming over his shoulders is, in fact, just a shadow.

Bucky knows, knows very well, that his thoughts are verging on paranoia. They’re irrational. Cowardly. Weak!

And yet he can’t stop them.

They tell you time heals all wounds. But they never tell you about the scars it leaves behind. Never tell you about the terrors that haunt your nights. Never tell you about the constant fright you live in, for fear of being wounded again. Never tell you that even though the pain is long gone, you never forget how it feels.

 

..........

 

“Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha lowers her pace, but doesn’t stop. Bucky jogs to catch up-to her. He hasn’t prepared his next words.

They’re just walking there, slowly, and the narrow, dimly lit corridor suddenly brings up the faint scent of forgotten memories. Natasha stops before it can overpower her, and turns to him.

“I uh..” He’s sure there are things he should be saying, he’s been hovering near those boundaries for so long. It isn’t her fault. And it isn’t his, despite what that little voice keeps repeating.

The whole ordeal of getting accustomed to people had been tricky, just like he’d expected. The avengers played their part well, he’d been the one fumbling around, knocking things over. And there were two people, in particular, he’d had the most difficulty with. One of them was Tony.

Natasha’s gaze is relentless.

“Steve told me. About you, I mean, us. Whatever he knows anyway. But I still feel like I barely know you.”

“And?” she prods him on.

“And.. wait,” he caves in and breaks the gaze, looking around aimlessly for a moment.

“That..was not what I wanted to say,” he says with a hesitant smile, pauses, and starts again.

“The next mission, we will be working together. I mean, I want us to be able to… function well. I’m not sure if, maybe it’s just me, having trouble with… this.” He’s not entirely sure what this means. And he’s painfully aware of the way he sounds. “If there is something that I should know about… myself, anything I did. It’s just, you were there and maybe I might have, I don’t know. I was wondering if...”

“Agent Barnes..”

Bucky feels lighter, now that the weight of the words is off his chest. That’s probably the longest conversation he’s had with her, even if it was one-sided, even if it was incoherent and in pieces.

“Bucky, please,” he manages to add in.

Natasha quirks a rare little smile at that, hardly noticeable, really. But he hasn’t ever pried a smile out of her, and a tiny part of him relishes in the small victory.

“Barnes, if you want words out of me, I can assure you, you’re wasting your time. Because, one, I don’t think you’re ready for it, and two, I’m not sure you should be hearing it from me.”

“Right. Okay.” Bucky nods, takes a step back.

“I’ll just..right," he says, motioning towards the corridor he'd just jogged down," thank you.” He starts walking away.

“What you did back then..”

“Wasn’t me? That’s all Steve’s been rattling off ever since he knocked me on the head.”

“Bucky.”

He stops, looks around, his expression both amazed and amused at hearing his name on her lips.

“Training facility at 5. Starting tomorrow, until the mission,” she says.

The words don’t quite register in Bucky’s head. He looks at her, vacantly, for a few seconds, before he realizes he’s staring.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, the automatic reply surprising him. It probably helped that Natasha didn’t ask a question, because this way, it seemed much easier to agree with the decision.

Natasha turns back to her path.

“And it’s Natasha, in case you were unsure,” she adds over her shoulder.

Bucky’s thoughts are racing a mile a minute, he watches her go, doesn’t notice the small smile on his face until she’s gone, and he’s been standing there for a good minute, staring down the empty corridor.


	2. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is trying. But when has trying ever been enough?

Natasha slips through his grasp, and comes up from behind him. Then in a movement far too swift for him to react, she’s tossing him over her.

There is a loud thud as Bucky slams against the mat on the floor, the air forced out of his lungs.

Natasha is looking down at him, watching him grimace to himself, and she stretches out a hand. He takes it, and springs back to his feet, readying himself for another round.

“We’re done for today,” she says as she walks away, grabs a bottle, and tosses it towards him without looking back. On reflex, he catches it. 

 

..........

 

“How did I do in the training?” 

The question is not needed, not really. Natasha had been giving him little pointers during the session. And even then she didn’t talk too much, preferring to have him learn from his mistakes instead.

She places her empty mug on the table, and looks over him for a moment.

“Is this Bucky asking the question or..” she drags it just a hint, because she doesn’t want to say it.

“It’s Bucky.” He is quick to answer, not wanting her to finish the statement either. 

He is suddenly annoyed at the question. Maybe he felt like he alone reserved that right to uncertainty. 

“Fairly well then.” She grabs the mug as she gets up, doesn’t fail to notice the slight frown on his face.

He knows the stories of the Winter Soldier. Even if the memories feel more like old dreams than reality, he knows, He doesn’t need any more evidence. Even so...

“And if it were the Winter Soldier asking?” Bucky’s not sure he wants the answer. 

Natasha turns to him, and pauses, thinking for the right way to put it.

“I expect much better,” she says.

Bucky nods at her, slightly grateful for the straight answer, but feeling a fresh bruise being poked again. Natasha can see his emotions laid bare on his face, not just because she’s an expert, but because that’s how vulnerable Bucky has become.

If anyone could understand his situation, it would be Natasha. And she does, in fact, understand it. But she’s not quite sure how that is supposed to help either of them. 

Nothing would come out of sobbing over their shared, broken histories. Of course, they could put on their shabby attires of normalcy, pretend nothing ever happened. But for what? No one ever wins by sweeping dirt under the rug. It comes back to torment you as sickness and death if it’s not properly dealt with.

The best Natasha could do, however, was just that. Give him normalcy. That’s what she had wanted, once. And she figured, that’s what he’d want too. 

The past doesn’t go away. Doesn’t change. The best you can do is acknowledge it. And let it know that you don’t need it as a crutch to move forward. Even if that means stumbling at times. 

Natasha walks away, leaving Bucky to simmer in his thoughts.

 

..........

 

“I won’t be joining you today.” Natasha is leaning by the doorway, fully suited up. 

Bucky throws another punch at the bag before dropping his hands. 

“I have a little mission in a while. Would rather not exhaust myself with training right now.” Natasha says, reading the question off his face.

Bucky goes back to punching.

He can see her watching him, he expects her to just walk away. She doesn’t. Instead she walks in, sits on one of the benches in the sides, and watches him train.

He tries not to focus on her. But the crawl of her eyes over his form is making him uneasy. He decides to take a break to arrest the bubbling anxiety.

“I remember you.” Natasha’s voice is soft, hesitant even, she is treading a rotten path, uncharted territory. 

Bucky smiles. He doesn’t know why, he just does, and Natasha finds herself relaxing at it.

“I’m guessing you never beat me then?” Bucky tries joining in on her nostalgia.

Natasha’s face goes grim.

“I..” she stops, and even Bucky can discern the lump in her throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to..”

"Don’t.” Her voice is suddenly firm again.

“I’ll leave you to your training.” She gets up, and walks away.

 

..........

 

“Is this any way to treat an old friend, Barnes?” the man, one of Hydra’s thugs, says in a sickly dry voice, broken from exhaustion. 

It takes Bucky a moment to catch on to the words, and when he does, he feels a tug inside his head, and the ground beneath his feet didn’t seem so stable anymore.

Even in the face of sure death, or worse, capture, the Hydra agent is calm and collected. He is stepping into familiar domain. He is biding his time. He needs Bucky to slip up; one small hitch, that would be his window of escape.

He knows better than to take on the Winter Soldier hand-to-hand, even if Bucky isn’t at his best right now, years of hard fights leave definite traces and strong instincts. 

“You don’t know me.” Bucky’s voice is dangerously low.

“I’d recognize you anywhere James.” The agent smirks at him, silently plotting a way to get out of the corner he had been forced into.

Bucky’s focus is slowly drifting out of that desolated compound. There is no real question of what he needs to do. Knock him out cold, take him back to the carrier, and let the team do their thing. Bucky was still stuck on the first step. 

“You’re no coward, soldier.” Bucky flinches at the last word.

“Oh, you are? Look at what they’ve done to you Barnes. You’re as weak as the rest of the lot.”

Bucky suddenly rushes towards him, grabs him by the shoulders and slams him against the wall. 

The agent chokes out a rough breath, and he smiles in Bucky’s face, smiles through the shrieking pain of Bucky’s metallic arm digging into the already deep wound on his right shoulder.

“Go on, soldier… I dare you.” he says, his voice a mixture of horrible pain and smug satisfaction. 

It would be easy, really. Bucky could do it, couldn’t he?

There are a million thoughts running through Bucky’s head, but they’re too far away to make any real sense. They sound like people at a distance shouting orders at him, only, he can’t hear what the orders are.

His hold on the man’s shoulders weakens.

“Barnes!” It’s Natasha, he can hear her, distantly, and he’s not sure if it’s actually her. 

In that small moment where Bucky’s attention is withering, his grip is weakening, the agent slips through his grasp, sneaks out one of the pistols stashed around Bucky’s waist, and takes a shot.

The ring isn’t all that loud, but Bucky finds it deafening, and he is stunned back to reality by the sudden noise.

It takes a moment more to realize the agent missed the shot, and is aiming another one at him, and Bucky grabs the hand, twists it, and the gun falls out of his hand.

Bucky is deliberate in breaking the hand, and the agent stumbles as the pain hits him.

Bucky is taking no chances this time, and in a swift blow, knocks him out cold.

He turns around, and sees, the voice wasn’t exactly in his head, and the agent didn’t miss his shot after all.

On the ground, is Natasha, not completely still, and the red is barely visible on her dark suit. But the little patch on the fresh snow around her is unmistakable. 

And Bucky finds the world suddenly spinning a bit too fast.


	3. Red

Bucky watches in slight horror as the red coats his nails. Of all the colors in the world...

He doesn’t move however, is as still as a rock watching paint dry. 

....................

Bucky gets up and walks out, no one tries to stop him because they likely realize that he doesn’t want to be stopped. He walks aimlessly out of the building. No one is taking secret glances at him as he walks the corridors. Either they’re used to his presence or they don’t care, neither being the better option in this case.

Bucky has been gliding by on the coattails of being a hero, or more accurately, of not being the threat. He’s not there yet. And a bit of him doubts if he’ll ever get there. In the meantime, gliding will do. At least, he’s not frantically flapping about for fear of falling.

They lead, and he follows. He’s okay with that. Maybe he’ll be a little optimistic and say it’s even good, sometimes.

Steve and Sam go running through the expansive countryside or the cobbled paths of a foreign city, and Bucky tries keep to Natasha from tackling him down. Running isn’t really his thing anyway.

They go where they’re needed, uncalled. They fight and save and run and hide. 

They train and Bucky starts feeling more like Bucky and less like the remains of the Winter Soldier from an old, gruesome fight. 

He learns to know Natasha. They talk more often in between rounds. Even throw quips and comebacks at each other during the session, like they’re two cheesy superheroes in a children’s comic book.

Natasha is beautiful, and she knows it, wears it like armor on her intensity. And if she is a little flirty, a little teasing, Bucky doesn’t complain. Unless her target is Steve, in which case he only slightly, silently complains to himself.

He tells her about the America of his days, even if she doesn’t ask; old photographs with worn out edges that seem like a simpler, more innocent time, but just maybe, they’re not. He tells her about Steve, things she uses to throw Cap off guard, out of the blue, and Steve is happy even if the joke is at his expense because it means Bucky remembers, it means Bucky knows, it means Bucky is being Bucky.

Until a slip and Bucky feels himself inching towards a long and hard spiral down.

He catches himself drowning in his thoughts, and snaps out of it. 

Bucky walks further along the paved path, to a familiar haunt at the farther end of the garden, a lone tree hanging out by itself. He looks up at it, and climbing seems exhausting, so he settles down by its trunk, the mellow scent of nameless flowers easing into his senses, and he lets himself relax, closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, before he hears soft footsteps approaching him. 

“I’ve been through worse, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Because, of course, she’s been through so much worse.

He opens his eyes, and Natasha’s sitting beside him. She’s out of gear, wearing a Wakandan outfit, most likely at the insistence of Shuri. 

It’s weird, and almost amusing, to think that there exists this extensive and advanced civilization, cut off from the rest of the world, living in nirvana. Maybe that’s what he needs too. Nirvana. 

“You’ve hardly started, and you’re already thinking of backing off.” Her tone is neutral, which in itself is uncomfortable; because if she mocks him he can be annoyed, if she’s annoyed he can be defensive, if she’s sympathetic he can cry woe is me. But she’s leaving him to come up with his own emotions, almost as though she’s asking him how he wants to her to react.

“I told you, I’m not ready,” he says, his voice small and nearly frustrated.

She hums in acknowledgment. And they sit in the silence of the late evening. 

“What will you do then?” she asks, and her voice should break the silence of the dull evening, but it doesn’t; it flows like the soft whistles of the birds in the easy wind.

“I… don’t know. Stay here I guess, if they’ll let me.”

Natasha smiles to herself, like she knows things he doesn’t. She most definitely does, but that isn’t the point.

The sun is sinking behind them, and they can’t see it going down. It casts a dusty orange hue all around them, winding its way through the plants and trees, marvelously reflecting off the glazed walls of the palace.

“What?” he asks, because she still has that small grin, and a part of him feels like she wants him to acknowledge it. Maybe the same part that’s trying to steal glances at her, and she looks brilliant. Always does, no doubt there. But it’s more, not something he can put a finger on, like she’s a slow puzzle on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“Just thinking about things you could do in your break. You have a lot to catch up on.”

He’s not sure if he wants to catch up. Or if he can.

“You can’t run away every time,” she adds after a pause, more reflective and more to the cool evening air than to him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask, but I can’t guarantee an answer.”

“Do you ever think of leaving this behind? Do you think we can leave this behind?”

“Career not suiting you? You got other plans?”

He turns to her again, the warm light is surreal on her; she looks like nostalgic art from a time long gone, and its idealist artist, both at once. 

“It’s just that,” he stops, looks away. It’s hard to tell what’s going through her mind. Even if her tone is light, her face isn’t trying to convey it. “I was going to go home. After the war, I mean. Even if most days it looked like I won’t, a part of me still believed I could. And with everything that’s happened since then, I haven’t been able to even think about it. Now, it just feels like this is all I know, this is all I am.” He feels breathless once it’s all out. He hasn’t even talked to Steve about all this.

Natasha doesn’t reply, and Bucky finds himself wondering if he should have just kept it to himself. 

“The war is over. You can go home,” she says, after some time.

“.. I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“What you need is a little break. A vacation. Somewhere warm and sunny. To clear your head,” she says as she gets up, dusting off the gorgeous Wakandan attire that is carrying flecks of dirt from the ground where she sat, and maybe it’s the soft hues of the evening that’s tricking his eyes into seeing her more graceful than she is. She turns around to walk away.

“Yeah? You know such a place?” he calls after her, because why not.

She stops and turns back to him, looking over his forlorn form, and thoughtfully she says,

“Actually, I do.”

Turns out she isn’t kidding about it.

....................

Natasha flops down on the couch behind him, peers over his shoulders to look at the artwork, showing off her own solid black fingernails.

“If you kids are done with your coloring, I could use a hand outside. Natasha?” Clint is standing by the doorway, his eyebrows raised at Natasha, sprawled on the couch, a children’s storybook in her hands.

“We are your guests, Clint. You shouldn’t make us work,” she says coolly, not taking her eyes off whatever she’s reading.

“I’ll join you,” Bucky says, already getting up. He can use some work, things are too slow, too… normal inside the house. He follows Clint outside, trying not to pay particular attention to Natasha telling him not to ruin his now lovely-looking nails.

“Are you sure? Because well,” Clint looks at Bucky, where the hunk of metal should be but now isn’t, “you don’t have to.”

Bucky shrugs off his concern, taking the shovel out of Clint’s hand, and they get to work, the project being Clint’s planned expansion of the garden. And when he says planned, it means Clint is testing out one thing after other, even going back on a completed piece of work just to change it altogether.

Clint is, well, Bucky can’t form an opinion yet. They work in silence for the most part. Clint doesn’t try to make much small talk, at least not as much as Natasha says he does, the topics revolving around what Clint hopes are safe avenues like music and tech. Eventually, once they’re in a comfortable back-and-forth exchange, they unsurprisingly find themselves back at Natasha and war and this whole mangled super-hero business. Clint is easy, Bucky realizes. No wonder him and Natasha get along so well.

It’s slow here. Not a slow Bucky recognizes, but it’s nice in its own alien way. They work. And they play. They eat. They play again. And eat again. The sun is starting to get droopy, and they start flying back. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to make of this visit. He’s considering asking her, when one of the screens lights up a dull green and makes soft, high-pitched noises at them.

Natasha is at the controls at once, looking at it.

“It’s a.. distress call,” she says, slowly.

Bucky tenses up. She must notice because,

“It’s probably nothing,” she says. “Is it okay if we check it out?”

“Uh,” Bucky can feel the emptiness in the absence of his arm. “Maybe we should call Steve first.”

Her eyes flash a hint of pity? Or concern perhaps, whatever it is, it’s gone as soon as it appears.

“It’s just off our path. And we don’t have to engage.”

She’s still careful, waiting for his approval. And honestly, Bucky knows he will beat himself up either way, so he utters a small okay.

“You might want to gear up,” she says, doesn’t look at him as she starts narrowing down on the signal’s location. And Bucky starts wondering if he should have chickened out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment. I very much appreciate feedback.
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> \- wordmason
> 
> P.S This story isn't moving ahead as fast I'd like lol. Work in progress. Slow perhaps, but progress nonetheless.


End file.
